Monday, October 18, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
“Journey Through Sicilian Dreams”
The journey starts:
Earth:
Sing!
From the sea to the dust,
From the sea to the dust,
from the dust to the sky,
from the sky to the universe.
From the gentle wind upon the grasslands grass-lands
dustlands of you and me
Sing,
Earth.
Sing life. Sing free.
Earth:
Sing!
Sing out love
of one spirit of unity
harmonized through the ebb and flow,
tidal currents of water-breathe breathing in the atmosphere
of womb-love gentle incubus of unity.
Sing, Earth!
Earth-song heartbeat of me and you
and all the blue red blue red earth of elephant monkey-dancing joy
spirit of rebirth, cycle of renewal,
purifying rain of singing earth.
Sing, Earth!
Sing with new vision,
joy of birth,
joy of youth,
joy of new life and
child life love
of smiling, laughing, growing joy.
Sing.
The dolphin sings the song of deep Zen
upon the waters of our departure.
Floating like breathe into the deep,
the dolphin sings renewal,
release, and of non-return-
the disappearance to the land of beyond.
The mountains are calling,
and we are calling back,
a return of excited love,
and hopeful vision,
and wonderful joy
of traverse-traverse
into the heart land.
Well-seated upon my glass of sight,
eye of wonder,
eye of peace,
eye of songful singing into the nighttime of future destinations
on southern cliffs of fame,
watershed of pious thought
and smiling friends
The Journey:
We commence as I sing my love for you:
Through Bagheria
the mountains to the right
rising like a blanket rumpled on the bed
of life-forming earth
(I sing my love for you).
And the train speeds on past Norman-decked chateaus
and olive tree orchards behind stone walls,
showering Sicily down to the tracks with
dripping life in green and brown and purple majesty.
The sun coasting an embrace through the looking glass
looking glass see through love of you,
I sing my love of you.
Through Trabia,
all balcony-balcony walkways upon the hill,
rising high apartments of the families I love
like I sing my love of you.
Termini Imerese
Are you by the sea, the sea?
Wild haired boys reading intellectuals by the sea,
of you writing to me,
of the sun loving the love between you and me,
I sing my song of love for you.
Then through the valley
between ancient mountain towns of long-ago, long-ago,
still-here rebirth of present love,
tobacco fields beneath the sun
and canyon lands of checkered tree top grace-
the earth-dust drawing us
down to the home inside our hearts,
the hearts of joy and peace inside the land of song,
(I sing my love for you).
I sing my love for you,
lover of my ka,
cross of self,
x-mark of treasure-nature,
secret map of me.
Drop, lord,
drop on me the water,
the water of life and love
and disappearance into
the great mystery of you,
and stopping in Roccapalumbia,
I feel the tear of myself,
but know that it is alright.
Cammarta-San Giovanni Gemini,
tobacco smoke and earth-direction,
love of vision of the road,
love of you, love of you,
future jungle homes and garden-walking meditations,
singing of my love for you.
Acquaviva-Caseltermini,
life of water, life to water, life from water and water of life,
I sing my song of you.
Dolphin dripping water, dolphin dripping love,
woman-dripping love of life of you,
I sing my song of love for you.
Campofranco, between the mountains,
song of earth
Pross-Aragona Caldare, and I fight back fear of you.
Prossima Agrigeno Bassa
and I find my way, old way, kind way, way of grace
(for I am quite imperfect).
Until like a river falling from ancient heights
we come into the modern-modern of Agrigento,
and I must sing my love for you in songs of new Earth,
modern Earth,
plastic techno-earth and mighty city earth,
and leave the land of ancient dreams until the water can enfold me.
(I sing my love for you).
Arrival, and all is quiet.
Sunday in the streets
as the clouds sleep drearily overhead.
Grey is the sky,
and red is the earth,
and all the ancient-new life
of streaming modernity
running on into love and infinite love
as we float upon the currents of the cycle
of living life.
to fulfill the voyage song of love.
Sing to fulfillment the song of love,
of Earth-love
of sky-love
of sea-love
of universe-love high and lofty
in the tip-top dreams of our knowing eyes.
Young and bright shall we remain,
loving to fulfillment in the cycle of this life,
until we disappear into the great sea of no-return
singing of the Earth of love.
I sing my love for you.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Reflections from the Tibetan Book of the Dead
Like Oddyseus
I wandered far through random space,
terrified by my own mind
because I did not recognize in its time
my own nature. I did not take my own natural course
toward liberation.
"Deny thyself," is only one-third of the teaching. To
do only this is the way to madness.
"Deny thyself, pick up thy cross," is only two-thirds
of the teaching. This is the way to stagnate in your own
nature until that nature rises up in sexual terrors,
the weight of the world on your shoulders-
the way of Atlas the Titan.
"Deny thyself, pick up thy cross, and follow me,"
is the three-fold path.
Following the way of your nature,
while denying yourself those distractions which
would not allow you to melt into deeper peace with yourself,
ever to degree;
Carrying your cross,
which marks your nature,
forces you into the spirit of your mind.
Following the Way leads you to the path of liberation,
the recognition of your mind as fluid light,
as lotus flower in bloom and decline,
and to eventual liberation.
I wandered far through random space
terrified by my own mind.
In my wandering I could enter anywhere,
but nowhere could I rest.
And I longed to be born into some identity,
and I struggeld to find the path back to my own nature,
and my own mind.
I wandered far through random space,
terrified by my own mind
because I did not recognize in its time
my own nature. I did not take my own natural course
toward liberation.
"Deny thyself," is only one-third of the teaching. To
do only this is the way to madness.
"Deny thyself, pick up thy cross," is only two-thirds
of the teaching. This is the way to stagnate in your own
nature until that nature rises up in sexual terrors,
the weight of the world on your shoulders-
the way of Atlas the Titan.
"Deny thyself, pick up thy cross, and follow me,"
is the three-fold path.
Following the way of your nature,
while denying yourself those distractions which
would not allow you to melt into deeper peace with yourself,
ever to degree;
Carrying your cross,
which marks your nature,
forces you into the spirit of your mind.
Following the Way leads you to the path of liberation,
the recognition of your mind as fluid light,
as lotus flower in bloom and decline,
and to eventual liberation.
I wandered far through random space
terrified by my own mind.
In my wandering I could enter anywhere,
but nowhere could I rest.
And I longed to be born into some identity,
and I struggeld to find the path back to my own nature,
and my own mind.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
22 Sep 2010
Whoever you are, to your endless announcements!
The churtles and burbles and laughters and farts!
The sighs and the comings and the moanings of all which
announce that there is,
that you are,
that I am,
Life.
Whoever you are, to your endless announcements!
Your religions so mindful of all that you think!
And those who eschew the dogmatic and trust
only in life and the lifestyles they lead.
For all of these things are like preachers,
announcing the presence of Christ inside you.
Whoever you are, to your endless announcements!
And life, and oh! life forever you’ll go on,
forever and ever till time is no more
in now,
and in soon,
in what was and is gone and will be again
and the endlessly rocking
cradling rocking
spiral of burning
the harvest of days.
Whoever you are, to your endless announcements!
The savage stands in the foray
in the vestibule,
in the tea room with the china,
his brown-red wind riding upon his skin
dressed now in hides
and dressed now in turbans
and dressed now in all the war hawks
of the mighty one chased to the ends of undone-
his sun dance eyes beating the night
of your announcements
with the truth of the harvest:
the tomahawk of fire and sword.
Whoever you are, to your endless announcements!
For I am but man, and though only fit
to remunerate upon that which is man,
I glimpse the eternal and hope.
Then repelled by my fear I give thanks again
for these endless oh! endless announcements,
for there is neither refuge in that which announces
a being,
any more than there is the nothingness that announces the soul.
The churtles and burbles and laughters and farts!
The sighs and the comings and the moanings of all which
announce that there is,
that you are,
that I am,
Life.
Whoever you are, to your endless announcements!
Your religions so mindful of all that you think!
And those who eschew the dogmatic and trust
only in life and the lifestyles they lead.
For all of these things are like preachers,
announcing the presence of Christ inside you.
Whoever you are, to your endless announcements!
And life, and oh! life forever you’ll go on,
forever and ever till time is no more
in now,
and in soon,
in what was and is gone and will be again
and the endlessly rocking
cradling rocking
spiral of burning
the harvest of days.
Whoever you are, to your endless announcements!
The savage stands in the foray
in the vestibule,
in the tea room with the china,
his brown-red wind riding upon his skin
dressed now in hides
and dressed now in turbans
and dressed now in all the war hawks
of the mighty one chased to the ends of undone-
his sun dance eyes beating the night
of your announcements
with the truth of the harvest:
the tomahawk of fire and sword.
Whoever you are, to your endless announcements!
For I am but man, and though only fit
to remunerate upon that which is man,
I glimpse the eternal and hope.
Then repelled by my fear I give thanks again
for these endless oh! endless announcements,
for there is neither refuge in that which announces
a being,
any more than there is the nothingness that announces the soul.
A romantic song
C.,
Last night I got some very upsetting news. I don't know what it means yet, but I have been intensely soul searching all night and all day today. So many decisions, so many possibilities, and I am dreaming of you in my soul and longing for you. I don't have a right to complain, and don't have a need to either, but there is a big part of me that still wishes I had have found my way with you when we were still in paradise, even if I know that the experiences we have had and the separation we have undergone have been somehow necessary and are an irrevocable part of the truth of our lives. I love you so deeply that it is humbling for me to realize how little I truly know myself, and it frightens me to realize how far away you truly are. I leave for Italy in a few days, and no matter what happens I feel as though I am finally going home.
I wrote this poem on the way from London to the cliffs of Dover, then stuck it in my wallet. I just found it again:
I sing a romantic song
under trees beside paths to the grey:
dreams of times still lost in the
memory of the dead. The
evening song chimes in the bells
on the ridge, and the white cliffs
arise like a bridge
to the far-away far-away
cast-away home of the soul of the romantic song.
I sing of the torquoise sea of my dreams,
and lovers with early morning ways,
smiling together through love-gilded hours of
coffee, tobacco, and kisses.
I sing of the heart of the poet's last poem,
the ruins of a castle awake on a hill,
ancient villages deep in the earth as chimney fire
wine bespeaks the last time when
comrades in arms will ride forth,
and all things glitter with the rays of the moon
as it welcomes you home.
I sing a song of the moon,
the enchantress whose light is a womb of the time
when you will finally be mine,
beside that sea of crystal joy,
pure blue like the Lord,
inside the heart of romantic song.
Last night I got some very upsetting news. I don't know what it means yet, but I have been intensely soul searching all night and all day today. So many decisions, so many possibilities, and I am dreaming of you in my soul and longing for you. I don't have a right to complain, and don't have a need to either, but there is a big part of me that still wishes I had have found my way with you when we were still in paradise, even if I know that the experiences we have had and the separation we have undergone have been somehow necessary and are an irrevocable part of the truth of our lives. I love you so deeply that it is humbling for me to realize how little I truly know myself, and it frightens me to realize how far away you truly are. I leave for Italy in a few days, and no matter what happens I feel as though I am finally going home.
I wrote this poem on the way from London to the cliffs of Dover, then stuck it in my wallet. I just found it again:
I sing a romantic song
under trees beside paths to the grey:
dreams of times still lost in the
memory of the dead. The
evening song chimes in the bells
on the ridge, and the white cliffs
arise like a bridge
to the far-away far-away
cast-away home of the soul of the romantic song.
I sing of the torquoise sea of my dreams,
and lovers with early morning ways,
smiling together through love-gilded hours of
coffee, tobacco, and kisses.
I sing of the heart of the poet's last poem,
the ruins of a castle awake on a hill,
ancient villages deep in the earth as chimney fire
wine bespeaks the last time when
comrades in arms will ride forth,
and all things glitter with the rays of the moon
as it welcomes you home.
I sing a song of the moon,
the enchantress whose light is a womb of the time
when you will finally be mine,
beside that sea of crystal joy,
pure blue like the Lord,
inside the heart of romantic song.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Dolphin poem 10
“Reasons to Dive”
the Jew is the chi underneath this rho
the x-marking spot behind the P
the target of your assassination attempts.
somewhere on a boat
way out at sea,
a lover’s helping me to come to grips
with the deaths and the lives and confederates
of amateurs that rank inside of me
as important to my hope.
the professional lifts
high into the night and we
are still in love in Key Largo.
And underneath this craft are singing in the waves
The laughing moon-anointings of the brother-eyes.
The Jew is the chi underneath the rho!
The SEAL is the poet’s alter-ego.
The twin is the fallen from among the stars
Carrying crosses till forever
Gives way to Buddha-bars Buddha-bars Buddha-bars,
Labar-ors of the inside and out,
While underneath the craft are the singing in the waves
Laughing moon-anointed brother-eyes.
Stars and bars!
How they fly proudly in the Low Countries,
All denied and unwilling but by desire,
Shaken loose by the whore of my soul.
But in the pool underneath this chool
Is the shine of the smile of the brother-eyes.
the Jew is the chi underneath this rho
the x-marking spot behind the P
the target of your assassination attempts.
somewhere on a boat
way out at sea,
a lover’s helping me to come to grips
with the deaths and the lives and confederates
of amateurs that rank inside of me
as important to my hope.
the professional lifts
high into the night and we
are still in love in Key Largo.
And underneath this craft are singing in the waves
The laughing moon-anointings of the brother-eyes.
The Jew is the chi underneath the rho!
The SEAL is the poet’s alter-ego.
The twin is the fallen from among the stars
Carrying crosses till forever
Gives way to Buddha-bars Buddha-bars Buddha-bars,
Labar-ors of the inside and out,
While underneath the craft are the singing in the waves
Laughing moon-anointed brother-eyes.
Stars and bars!
How they fly proudly in the Low Countries,
All denied and unwilling but by desire,
Shaken loose by the whore of my soul.
But in the pool underneath this chool
Is the shine of the smile of the brother-eyes.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Dolphin poem 9
Buddha-Buddha
budda-budda
nutta-nutta
nutter butter
better nutter butter.
I have cried so many tears that I just can not explain,
I have wept a sea for you.
I have stood too close to the fire of life and not-life,
But I have had faith.
I am still dropping fresh fat-charred flesh
From this skeleton of my spleen.
And I am still dropping out of sight for you.
And I am still too freshly singed to reemerge from these ovens,
iron doors of Hostel tortures,
and annihilations of the just,
children making killing sounds with their throats.
Like a dolphin,
I am panting my last breaths
To escape from the hunters on the surface,
As the world goes mad with too much life.
Buddha-Buddha
budda-budda
nutter butter
peanut better nutter butter.
budda-budda
nutta-nutta
nutter butter
better nutter butter.
I have cried so many tears that I just can not explain,
I have wept a sea for you.
I have stood too close to the fire of life and not-life,
But I have had faith.
I am still dropping fresh fat-charred flesh
From this skeleton of my spleen.
And I am still dropping out of sight for you.
And I am still too freshly singed to reemerge from these ovens,
iron doors of Hostel tortures,
and annihilations of the just,
children making killing sounds with their throats.
Like a dolphin,
I am panting my last breaths
To escape from the hunters on the surface,
As the world goes mad with too much life.
Buddha-Buddha
budda-budda
nutter butter
peanut better nutter butter.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Dolphin poem 8
How can this be me?
Sitting awake inside my tent
With these beautiful lives calling out to me,
This beautiful music all embracing me,
This wonderful living world thriving around me.
How can this be?
How can this be me?
I lay awake last night
As you called out to me from the depths,
Your chuckle and whistle swimming around my tent,
The fragrance of every smoking goodness
Ingested into the soul of man.
And I was so far out, I was so far out. I was a merman in the depths.
How can this be me? I am afraid, I am floored, I am humbled but stubborn.
Sitting awake inside my tent
With these beautiful lives calling out to me,
This beautiful music all embracing me,
This wonderful living world thriving around me.
How can this be?
How can this be me?
I lay awake last night
As you called out to me from the depths,
Your chuckle and whistle swimming around my tent,
The fragrance of every smoking goodness
Ingested into the soul of man.
And I was so far out, I was so far out. I was a merman in the depths.
How can this be me? I am afraid, I am floored, I am humbled but stubborn.
Monday, September 13, 2010
dophin poem 7
Dear dolphins,
my friend Linda is about to go into surgery for cancer. She's going to have some of her organs removed, and she'll have to still go through chemo therapy etc. when she gets out.
It is very hard for me to focus on you right now. You are so magical and lovely, but I can't imagine anything bad happening to Linda, and it is really difficult for me to do anything accept feel the stress and the love of this relationship right now.
I am so pissed about the pain that some of you are having to endure at this moment with "dolphin season" having opened in some parts of the world. It's just not right, and it's not fair, and I think of the young ones who are excited to see humans for the first time and then get massacred by them. I am heartbroken, and I hope that this doesn't happen, but whether or not I imagine it as a reality doesn't make one bit of a difference as to whether or not it really happens. I just can't imagine seeing the magic in the water and then going out with the express purpose of killing it.
So I am trying to focus on the love and the joy in our relationship during these two weeks. It's like a discipline that I'm trying, just to think about how much beauty is in your souls, and how much warmth is in your eyes. (We humans, we think that we are the only ones on this planet with souls.) But right now I need to just get drunk, listen to some Jimmy Buffet, and spend some time with Linda. I guess I'll try to pack and head out to Amsterdam at some point, but we'll see.
my friend Linda is about to go into surgery for cancer. She's going to have some of her organs removed, and she'll have to still go through chemo therapy etc. when she gets out.
It is very hard for me to focus on you right now. You are so magical and lovely, but I can't imagine anything bad happening to Linda, and it is really difficult for me to do anything accept feel the stress and the love of this relationship right now.
I am so pissed about the pain that some of you are having to endure at this moment with "dolphin season" having opened in some parts of the world. It's just not right, and it's not fair, and I think of the young ones who are excited to see humans for the first time and then get massacred by them. I am heartbroken, and I hope that this doesn't happen, but whether or not I imagine it as a reality doesn't make one bit of a difference as to whether or not it really happens. I just can't imagine seeing the magic in the water and then going out with the express purpose of killing it.
So I am trying to focus on the love and the joy in our relationship during these two weeks. It's like a discipline that I'm trying, just to think about how much beauty is in your souls, and how much warmth is in your eyes. (We humans, we think that we are the only ones on this planet with souls.) But right now I need to just get drunk, listen to some Jimmy Buffet, and spend some time with Linda. I guess I'll try to pack and head out to Amsterdam at some point, but we'll see.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Dolphin Poems 5 and 6
Dolphin Poem 5
I wrote the fifth sonnet of this series last night, but didn't get to post it. Here it is:
The night is vast and draws me in,
Even though the night doesn't hold the same vision anymore.
The movies-movies satellite my mind
And I feel objectionable to the identity of Christ.
I wish for life and reach for the resurrection
And am always afraid of the harvest.
I run to you.
Like a child in the surf
I run to you with my wings
On my ankles
In the waters of the deep.
And I feel the cherishing
Of your song as you sing
Life back into the vision of the night.
Dolphin Poem 6
it's not a sonnet,
and it's not even my poem.
But it's brilliant:
I wrote the fifth sonnet of this series last night, but didn't get to post it. Here it is:
The night is vast and draws me in,
Even though the night doesn't hold the same vision anymore.
The movies-movies satellite my mind
And I feel objectionable to the identity of Christ.
I wish for life and reach for the resurrection
And am always afraid of the harvest.
I run to you.
Like a child in the surf
I run to you with my wings
On my ankles
In the waters of the deep.
And I feel the cherishing
Of your song as you sing
Life back into the vision of the night.
Dolphin Poem 6
it's not a sonnet,
and it's not even my poem.
But it's brilliant:
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
dolphin poem 4
The world is full of me,
and I am full of it.
And I have so much trouble seeing sometimes
my way through all the shit
that's surrounding me,
hurting me,
scaring me,
making me feel hopeless
and unworthy of good things in my life.
But when I dive,
and I see you guys in the water close by
or out there somewhere in the blue,
I remember, and I know.
Why's it so hard sometimes to remember how much we love something?
and I am full of it.
And I have so much trouble seeing sometimes
my way through all the shit
that's surrounding me,
hurting me,
scaring me,
making me feel hopeless
and unworthy of good things in my life.
But when I dive,
and I see you guys in the water close by
or out there somewhere in the blue,
I remember, and I know.
Why's it so hard sometimes to remember how much we love something?
dolphin poem 3
On September 1st, 2010, dolphin hunting season opened in Teiji, Japan. I have not seen "The Cove", and I don't think I want to. I can imagine the type of propaganda that it includes. But I can say this: anybody who would kill a dolphin (or a whale) is beyond the scope of my ability to understand. And the way they do it in Teiji is beyond my ability to appreciate.
This is the third of a line of daily sonnets for dolphins I hope to post for at least the next two weeks. 14 14 versed poems for dolphins, for humans, for our relationship to one another.
If we can't learn to talk to one another, how can we ever hope to talk to God?
And I bled for you.
And my blood sank into the deep of the blue.
Thick like black ink
Upon the pages of a child’s comic book.
And it settled all of my final cries,
My confusion and pain,
My anger and the betrayal of your killing.
Such joy as I have in seeing you I have rarely felt,
I have rarely known,
My twin souls from the other side,
Where they do not dive.
If you had asked me,
I would have told you:
I bled for you.
This is the third of a line of daily sonnets for dolphins I hope to post for at least the next two weeks. 14 14 versed poems for dolphins, for humans, for our relationship to one another.
If we can't learn to talk to one another, how can we ever hope to talk to God?
And I bled for you.
And my blood sank into the deep of the blue.
Thick like black ink
Upon the pages of a child’s comic book.
And it settled all of my final cries,
My confusion and pain,
My anger and the betrayal of your killing.
Such joy as I have in seeing you I have rarely felt,
I have rarely known,
My twin souls from the other side,
Where they do not dive.
If you had asked me,
I would have told you:
I bled for you.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Dolphin Poem 2
On September 1st, 2010, dolphin hunting season opened in Teiji, Japan. I have not seen "The Cove", and I don't think I want to. I can imagine the type of propaganda that it includes. But I can say this: anybody who would kill a dolphin (or a whale) is beyond the scope of my ability to understand. And the way they do it in Teiji is beyond my ability to appreciate.
This is the second of a line of daily sonnets for dolphins I hope to post for at least the next two weeks. 14 14 versed poems for dolphins, for humans, for our relationship to one another.
If we can't learn to talk to one another, how can we ever hope to talk to God?
-Man is the dream of the dolphin. -David Fairstein
Sleep.
Perhaps to dream.
A dream a song
Gliding toward the infinite
Blue.
Perhaps so deep
You cannot will,
But lie awake at night in one giant state
Of ever present
Peace.
Perhaps to last.
One laughing smiling toothy face
Of grey on white on grey.
Breathe.
This is the second of a line of daily sonnets for dolphins I hope to post for at least the next two weeks. 14 14 versed poems for dolphins, for humans, for our relationship to one another.
If we can't learn to talk to one another, how can we ever hope to talk to God?
-Man is the dream of the dolphin. -David Fairstein
Sleep.
Perhaps to dream.
A dream a song
Gliding toward the infinite
Blue.
Perhaps so deep
You cannot will,
But lie awake at night in one giant state
Of ever present
Peace.
Perhaps to last.
One laughing smiling toothy face
Of grey on white on grey.
Breathe.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Dolphin Poem 1
On September 1st, 2010, dolphin hunting season opened in Teiji, Japan. I have not seen "The Cove", and I don't think I want to. I can imagine the type of propaganda that it includes. But I can say this: anybody who would kill a dolphin (or a whale) is beyond the scope of my ability to understand. And the way they do it in Teiji is beyond my ability to appreciate.
This is the first of a line of daily sonnets for dolphins I hope to post for at least the next two weeks. 14 14 versed poems for dolphins, for humans, for our relationship to one another.
If we can't learn to talk to one another, how can we ever hope to talk to God?
"Pyramid Kings"
Swimming downhill through the water pyramid,
Coat of oil-slick joy gliding the crests of the deep:
A million galaxies in awe of the kings of the sea,
A million pleasure-domed Xanadus awake inside me.
Gliding upstream like an engine through space:
One push through this vacuum with the thought
Of my language-mind, language-eye, abstract
Phenomenon of the me that is I, the God just inside,
The human, all human, air pyramid king of the sky.
Kings of the Water
Meet Kings of the Air.
Sometimes we dive and we meet them there.
Sometimes they surface and they see us here too,
Royal houses of life on a Planet of Blue.
This is the first of a line of daily sonnets for dolphins I hope to post for at least the next two weeks. 14 14 versed poems for dolphins, for humans, for our relationship to one another.
If we can't learn to talk to one another, how can we ever hope to talk to God?
"Pyramid Kings"
Swimming downhill through the water pyramid,
Coat of oil-slick joy gliding the crests of the deep:
A million galaxies in awe of the kings of the sea,
A million pleasure-domed Xanadus awake inside me.
Gliding upstream like an engine through space:
One push through this vacuum with the thought
Of my language-mind, language-eye, abstract
Phenomenon of the me that is I, the God just inside,
The human, all human, air pyramid king of the sky.
Kings of the Water
Meet Kings of the Air.
Sometimes we dive and we meet them there.
Sometimes they surface and they see us here too,
Royal houses of life on a Planet of Blue.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Ode to the Outer Hebrides
This last week I left Ft. William on the west coast of Scotland and traveled through the Isle of Skye and the Outer Hebrides. I was able to capture some images and write some bits of verse, but I didn't actually use any of the poetry that I wrote along the way for this post. Instead, something else expressed itself. I think it's time to head for the Med...
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